


adMission

by 8ucky8arnes



Series: fragMents [5]
Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, season 2 spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 13:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16517729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ucky8arnes/pseuds/8ucky8arnes
Summary: The list of names she’d scribbled down for Erg kept coming back, guilt churning her stomach at the realization that she had to talk to him about what she’d done. She had to tell him, she knew she did. She remembered the last time she’d kept something from him and the anger that had flared in those dark eyes…the betrayal…Would what he look at her with now? After everything they’d been through?





	adMission

Clarice’s stomach dropped when she and Marcos returned to the clinic, Marcos immediately asking the clearly rattled woman at the front desk what happened. Her stomach dropped when she heard the words _Purifiers_ and _break-in_ and _guns,_ running to find Caitlyn or John and ask what the hell happened.

She stopped when she found Caitlyn sitting with Reed and Lauren, her head in her hands while her husband ran a hand up and down her back. Clarice knocked hesitantly on the doorframe, forcing her voice to be as calm as possible, “Caitlyn?”

The woman looked up, eyes glistening with tears.

She sucked in a breath, “What happened? Where’s John?”

“The man that he brought in, Michael, gave us some information on the mutant that the Inner Circle took but he was in bad shape when they…when the Purifiers came,” She swallowed, “Michael needed surgery and John, he…” Caitlyn shook her head, “I told him he couldn’t go out there, but he was so…so desperate. I’ve never seen him like that.”

_I have_. Clarice took a deep breath, “Where is Michael? John?”

The first question seemed to physically strike her, “He wasn’t going to make it. Michael knew it. I knew it, but I…I didn’t tell John. Michael served too, kept telling John that the mission comes first, but he wouldn’t…” tears streamed from her eyes, “He died and John was so angry…”

“Where did John go?”

“He went back to the apartment for only a couple minutes, then came and took Michael’s body.” She didn’t look at Reed when he squeezed her shoulder, keeping her focus on Clarice, “He said he deserved a proper burial.”

Clarice ran a hand through her hair. She tried to remember how long they’d been underground, but time felt different down there…like the whole world could pass them by, “How long ago was that?”

“A little over three hours.”

She tried to do the math in her head, to figure how it took to dig…Clarice shuddered. That thought wasn’t one to linger on. However long it took, John should’ve been back by now. “Did you see him come back?”

Caitlyn shrugged, “If he did, he’s probably back at the apartment.”

“Thank you Caitlyn and I’m sorry we weren’t…”

She shook her head, “Don’t. You and Marcos saved those patients, Clarice.”

Clarice tried not to frown, remembering the circle of burning candles, the glow of heated metal, the _M_ burned into their cheeks and still hearing the hiss and the gasps of pain of the mutants who’d chosen to stay with Erg. _Did we?_

She left them, walking down the hall to the front desk, when she noticed the wall to the secret room was open. She looked both way, sighed, and went to close it when she saw the state of the room.

Clarice was drawn the old water heater, fingers tracing the dented metal.

_Oh, John…_

She closed the panel behind her and portaled to their apartment, immediately making her way to their bedroom, pausing when she finally registered the sound of the shower running coming through the slight ajar bathroom door.

It killed her to keep walking, but she told herself that he needed this time to himself.

She sat on their bed, back against the headboard and her chin resting on her knees.

Clarice to keep herself calm but with everything had happened within the last day it felt as though flash images were tearing through her mind with abandon: a folded list of names, a circle of candles, the hiss of red-hot metal on flesh, Marcos’ torn expression, Caitlyn’s teary eyes, her words, the dented metal…

The list of names she’d scribbled down for Erg kept coming back, guilt churning her stomach at the realization that she had to talk to him about what she’d done. She had to tell him, she knew she did. She remembered the last time she’d kept something from him and the anger that had flared in those dark eyes…the betrayal…

_“You know when you ran off and I went to look for you I did that…because I thought you were one of us.” He looked at her with hard eyes and a clenched jaw, “I don’t know…maybe I was wrong.”_

Would what he look at her with now? After everything they’d been through?

He’d opened to her so much over these last few weeks, bared the damaged soul that lay underneath all that nearly impenetrable skin and yet all she’d done in return was lie and keep secrets…

Clarice looked up when he entered and on any other day, the sight of him shirtless and still dripping from the shower would’ve derailed conscious thought completely but the horrible burns covering his hands and his arms and his chest threw them in another direction entirely… “Oh my God, John what…what happened?”

“Michael’s skin was acidic…no one else could touch him.”

She swallowed. “John, I’m so-…”

“ _Don’t_ Clarice…” He clenched his jaw, “Not right now.”

She winced at his barbed tone.

He sighed, running a hand down his face, “Sorry, I…it’s been a long day.”

“Tell me about it.” She muttered, frowning at his hands as he walked over. Those burns looked worse to nearer he got, all blistered, peeling skin. “Do you have anything for your hands? They look like they hurt…”

He shook his head, “I heal quickly…”

“So I’ve heard…” she crawled off the bed and lightly shoved him back, “Now sit.”

He almost smiled as he sat down.

She kept her teasing expression until her back was to him, everything crumbling into a mess of nerves as she dug the first aid kit that Caitlyn insisted everyone have in their apartments if the clinic was ever compromised out from under the sink and set it next to him.

Pulling out the burn ointment and gauze, she dragged the desk chair in front of him.

He held out his left hand with no argument.

His eyes burned into the side of her head as she uncapped the ointment, trying to focus on the warmth of his skin or the coolness of the medicine instead of how much effort it was taking to keep her hands from shaking.

They sat in silence as she finished wrapping the hand before moving onto the next.

She wetted her lips, not looking up at him as she took his hand in hers once more. Upon closer inspection, she saw that his knuckles were bruised and split as well, her frayed control finally snapping as she stiffened…

_“He wasn’t going to make it. Michael knew it. I knew it, but I…I didn’t tell John…”_

The image of the caved in metal flashed across her mind and she swallowed thickly.

_“He died and John was so angry…”_

 “Clarice?”

 “I uh…I need to tell you something.” She dropped his hand, “And you’re not going to like it.”

“Clarice.” The frown was audible in his voice, as was the concern, “What is it?”

_She wondered how quickly that would change…_

She finally looked up, “It’s about Erg.”

A myriad of emotions flashed through his eyes, too fast for her to get a handle on, and he slid off the bed. He crouched in front of her, one hand resting on her knee, the other curling around her elbow. “What happened, Clarice? Did he…?”

She shook her head, “No, John. It’s about…how I got that info on the Inner Circle.”

He frowned, but didn’t interrupt as she forced out the words.

“He…wanted a trade. Information for information.”

His gaze sharpened, “Information about what?”

She swallowed again, his stare pinning her place. “Us…and the mutants we helped.”

It was like watching a wall come down over his expression, his warmth and concern now a mask of stone as he stood and took one step back, and then another before turning and striding from the room. In that instant, he sucked all the heat from the room, fueling his anger and leaving her hollow.

Clarice flinched as the sound of breaking glass coming from the kitchen and against her better judgement, she followed him. She wasn’t going to leave him alone this time, not when she was the cause of it.

He was bent over the sink, every line of his body as taut as a bow string being drawn back.

She hesitated in the doorway, “John?”

The tension bled out of him with a sigh as he looked up. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

She blinked, sucking in a sharp breath. The mask had fallen apart as quickly as he’d constructed it, revealing the mess of pain and guilt that was becoming all too familiar to her. She almost would’ve preferred the anger. “After your talk with Evangeline, you were so desperate for answers and I…I hated seeing you like that. You were trying to take on everything at once and I just…I wanted to help…”

He held out a bandaged hand, “Come here.”

She slid her fingers through his.

He tugged her closer, wrapping her in his arms as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

Clarice closed her eyes, sinking into his embrace.

“I’m sorry that you felt you had to hide this from me.” His voice wavered, “I’ve been so focused on trying to redeem myself after Atlanta that everything else just…” he stepped back so he could look at her, “I’m just tired of losing people.”

“You won’t lose me but…” Her fingers traced the constellation of bruises left by the shotgun and the burns left by Michael’s acidic skin, matching the ones on his hands. The marks told her of his desperation and continued lack of disregard for his own safety. Her eyes burned with tears, “…if you keep this up, I’m afraid I’ll lose you and I _can’t_ -”

He held her face in his hands, his tone full of so much _conviction_ , “That’s not going to happen.”

She wanted to argue, the words _you don’t know that_ on the tip of her tongue but she held them back. The anger and the sadness and the guilt had disappeared, something warmer and softer and brighter in his gaze…She smiled up at him, trying to keep her voice light, “If you say so…”

He pursed his lips, probably trying to figure why she wasn’t arguing with him.

Clarice took his wrist and tugged, “Now come on. Let me look at that hand.”

“Clarice…”

She kept the smile on her face, “ _John_ …”

He sighed, letting her pull him along and sit him back down on the bed.

They both sat in relative silence until she’d finished, Clarice setting aside the used supplies and pressing her lips to his bandaged knuckles. She smiled as she set his hand down, “There you go, soldier. Good as new.”

His fingers caught her wrist as she stood.

She laughed as he spun her around, drawing her in between his legs.

His expression was one he hadn’t worn the night after the Liberty Park raid, John looking up at her through dark lashes and a soft smile as his thumbs teased the strip of skin between her jeans and t-shirt with slow, circular patterns.

She hesitated for only a split second before seizing his lips, smiling against his mouth as her shirt and bra was discarded behind her seconds later. Clarice melted into his touch as he lifted her into his lap, but as her hands ran over the welts and bruises on his chest and stomach she realized that this was as much a distraction for him as it was an assurance for her.

As to whether or not it would actually work…

She guessed they would figure that out in the morning.


End file.
